Heaven Can't Wait
by Enochian Whisperer
Summary: A Destiel alternative to 9x06. Castiel's prepared (poorly) for his first date, and his boss stands him up.


**I made an attempt to recreate Castiel's date scene from memory. I likely did a horrid job since I can't remember everything word-for-word. A Destiel alternative to 9x06: "Heaven Can't Wait". **

**For Amy.**

* * *

Dean pulls up to the manager's house. Castiel is having one of his rare moments of extreme tension; he's scared, and it's that's obvious. He's not versed in the fluidity of human love. His eyes are wide and they keep wandering as he tries to compose himself. '_I'm an angel of The Lord_,' he reminds himself, '_I've faced formidable enemies before. This enemy is nothing in comparison_.'

"You okay?" Dean pats Castiel to get his attention. Castiel turns his head. He sees the amusement written all over Dean's face. He doesn't answer, and he looks back to his boss's house. Dean's smile fades.

"...Are we ever gonna talk about this?" he poses seriously. Castiel's head turns back again.

"You made me leave, Dean."

It's a hurtful truth, and it stings.

"...I know I did. It was a mistake."

"Why did you do it?"

Dean stares into Castiel's eyes for a long moment. He can't exactly tell him the truth. It could put him in harm's way.

"... Cas, this isn't you-"

"It is me now, Dean," Castiel's gazes bores into Dean so much that it leaves him unsettled. "—I _broke_ Heaven. No matter what I've done, I'm never able to fix it. How many times have I tried already?... I'm not "Castiel" anymore. My name is Steve. I work at a convenience store in Idaho as a sales associate, and I'm doing _good_. I'm not screwing up anymore. Here I can _do good_, and help people, and—" his eyes flee ahead for a moment as he pauses. "...I don't have to be tethered to the past and burdened by my mistakes."

Dean opens his mouth to retaliate, but he stops himself. This isn't the first time that Castiel has walked himself off the chessboard. He's had to drill it into Castiel's mind before that he has to take responsibility for what he has done. But this time is different. He realizes that. This time, redemption is so far out of reach that hoping to even skim the surface is like hoping to spin the North Star on one's fingertips. Dean spies the tiny Star through the twines of branches overhead, and he is silent. Even angels can only carry so many burdens.

"...Lose the vest," he says at last.

"What?"

"Dude, lose the vest," Dean repeats exasperatingly, "if you're going on a date you can't just show up in uniform."

Castiel realizes that he's still wearing his vest, name tag and all.

"...I don't have any other clothes, Dean," he tells him, and that aura of fear returns to the angel. Dean hesitates, trying to think.

"—Okay, how about- Undo a few buttons," he suggests. Castiel's hands jump up to his collar and begin undoing buttons.

"Whoa, okay, easy-" Dean warns, "_— not that many_." Castiel stops. Dean stares. He's actually surprised. He would've thought Castiel would be more abashed by the suggestion, but ignorance strikes once again. Castiel is looking out the window again. His manager is expecting him right about now-

Castiel pops the passenger door open, but he's pulled back by a hand on his shoulder. His head snaps back to Dean questioningly. Dean's smiling at him. It's encouraging.

"Be sure to ask a lot of questions. They like that stuff. ...Go get 'em, tiger."

Castiel is shoved back out affectionately, and his eyes are wide again. His heart is racing. This isn't a first-time experience as a human, but it's very stressful. He hates it. He slowly approaches the door, completely forgetting to close the car door. Dean grimaces, and leans over to slap it shut. Castiel looks back and Dean's got his same smile stitched up again. Dean offers a thumbs-up, and Castiel awkwardly returns the gesture. He's learning.

Castiel toddles to the front door. His anxiety is obvious from the Impala. '_Oh my g-_' Dean watches as Castiel leans down and snips a rose blossom right from a pot on the woman's front porch. He does everything he can to keep his smile genuine. Castiel turns one more time to wave him away. Go. Get out of here. Dean nods and cuts the wheel.

He can't exactly walk Castiel's through his first date, but he can at least provide moral support. And pray to God that Castiel doesn't do anything stupid.

Oh wait.

He can't.

—

The Rit Zien is dead. Castiel is huffing, towering over the angel's corpse with the angel blade in hand. Dean is sprawled out against the wall, breathing sweet relief. Castiel is shaken from his shock, and he runs to the baby's crib. The little girl is still wailing. He scoops her up and feels her forehead again. She's burning up.

"Dean-" he says, running to child over to his strewn friend. He stopped next to him as Dean struggles to sit up straighter. God, that noise is grating his eardrums. "-She's very warm, I don't know what to do-"

Dean feels the baby's forehead, nevermind the aching pain that he's in. She is warm. He wills himself up off the floor and ventures into the kitchen. Castiel follows suit, trying to soothe the baby by bouncing her in his grasp. Dean is searching the medicine cabinet. Castiel doesn't understand what he's doing, but Dean pulls out a bottle and pops the cap.

"Here-" he says dumping a capsule in Castiel's free hand. He searches the fridge for formula. Dean finds a jar of mashed food, and he grabs a spoon from the drawer. He slips the spoon in, and hides the capsule in the food. It takes some effort by they manage to coax the food into the baby's mouth. They take turns rocking her and soon enough, she's lulled to sleep. While Castiel is impressed by Dean's action, Dean thanks modern medicine. Castiel put the baby to bed, wrapping her up in blankets and for a minute they watch her sleep.

Castiel can feel the proximity in which Dean is standing behind him. He's not altogether bothered by it. But he feels apprehensive. He knows what's coming.

"...So that dick came for the _baby_?" Dean asks, in disbelief.

"Yes," Castiel says. It isn't the truth at all.

"God... _really_? That's real friggin' low."

It is better to have Dean believe so, the angel thinks. It isn't like Dean's opinion about angels can get any worse. They're all dicks. Except one.

"You okay, Cas?"

Castiel turns to face Dean.

"I'm fine," he answers. Dean's not sure he buys it.

"—You gave me a good scare, buddy," Dean huffs, trying to pull some humor from this situation. It doesn't work.

"...I'm sorry."

Dean stares at Castiel. Castiel stares at Dean.

"... I won't go back to the bunker."

Dean is stunned. For a moment he doesn't know how to take this tidbit of information. He's torn between feeling relieved and feeling remorse. Right now, the remorse is outweighing the prior.

"...Yeah," he says in placid agreement. "No, I agree. ...You deserve to live a normal life. To be happy."

Castiel doesn't disagree.

"... Being apart from my family doesn't make me happy."

This stills Dean.

For a moment, he doesn't understand what Castiel means by this, but then it dawns on him.

This is the first time that Castiel has verbally acknowledged Bobby's declaration that "family don't end in blood".

Dean carefully steps closer. Castiel watches him. Dean's hands rise and he reaches.

"...May I?"

Castiel only answers with knit brows and confused eyes. Dean hesitates, and then he slowly combs his fingers into Castiel's dark hair.

It isn't as soft as he would have liked. Rather, it's a little sleek with oils. He wonders when Castiel has last bathed. The angel doesn't protest or question, which is good to Dean's knowledge. The hunter inspects Castiel silently, and the angel allows Dean to pore over him. He doesn't mind. He trusts Dean. Enough time has come and gone for Dean to earn this right of passage. He does wonder though, why Dean is fascinated by his follicles, but he keeps the question to himself.

It's when Dean's fingers curl to his jawline that Castiel becomes concerned. Dean's eyes are locked with Castiel's, but they break away periodically to watch his own fingers trace the angel of bone as they scrape lightly over stubble. Castiel assumes that this is an intimate act that humans engage in when they are bonded closely. He is human. He is correct.

Dean's fingers stop at Castiel's chin and they linger. Dean's eyes are a candy apple green. But in the dim light of the baby's nursery, they look more like dark pine. For some reason, Castiel becomes uncomfortable staring at Dean so closely. He's had staring contests with Dean many times before, but this feels different in a way he can't explain. He doesn't want to pull away though, because Castiel realizes that he actually likes this attention. It's gentle, contrary to Dean's more rugged nature. He doesn't know what it is that spurs this, but he doesn't want to disagree with it. He lets his eyes close. He trusts Dean that much.

When he opens his eyes again, he almost flinches. Dean is right there, in his face— and their mouths touch.

Castiel doesn't know how to respond to this. He knows what a kiss is, but this isn't something he is prepared to handle. Not from Dean, of all people on Earth. Tender, but chapped, scarred skin slides very slightly together. He sees that Dean has his eyes closed, and he think he should do the same. He does. It occurs to him that one of Dean's hands has sunk south during this surprising, engrossing exchange. It's resting on his mid-back now. Castiel doesn't know what to do with his own hands, so they just hang loosely if not awkwardly at his sides. The other hand on his chin slides back to rake through his hair, and the movement that Dean is procuring sweeps up, pressuring Castiel a little, and he reciprocates. He has no idea what to do, so he tries to mimic Dean. Castiel's hands flutter. There is an urge to put his hands somewhere on Dean's body, but he can't decide where is appropriate. He figures that his upper back is the safest bet.

His fingers curl abruptly, hooking on Dean's shoulders and digging, when the hunter suddenly jerks forward to break the barrier between their mouths. A sound he makes involuntarily has Castiel's eyes popping open. Spider veins of an unusual sensation ripple under his skin, and he has to snap the kiss away-

Dean's eyes open, and shock wipes his face clean of everything else. What has he just done to Castiel? But then he is aware–Castiel's hands have not left him. The slack-jawed expression drops and he swallows. His sight drops down, and he notices the buttons that are _still _undone on Castiel's shirt. The temptation is present. Dean knows he should say something, but he doesn't know what.

Meanwhile Castiel's eyes try to pore though Dean's. The eyes are the windows to the soul. Castiel has seen Dean's soul. He's had to rebuild it from scratch. He's had to raise the Righteous Man and restore him, both body and _soul_. Castiel's right hand slides down Dean's shoulder. It fits over the burn scar he left there all those years ago as a signature of his handiwork.

Dean stiffens, to Castiel's surprise. He shudders slightly. Castiel moves his hand away, but Dean catches it and slides it back. It belongs there. It's a perfect fit. Castiel understands.  
And they lip-lock again.

Dean's hands work to undo the rest of Castiel's buttons. Castiel pads his fingers over the scar, rubbing small circles over the reddened skin. Once or twice Castiel finds a sensitive spot and Dean's hips jump against his. Once or twice Castiel feels strange pulses of intensity that are foreign, but familiar to him. Dean is trying to remove Castiel's shirt, but Castiel is holding Dean, causing the hunter to tug vainly at the fabric bunching down his back and to his elbows.

Dean breaks the kiss this time, and he finally speaks.  
"Let _go_ for a second."  
His frustration appeals to Castiel and he doesn't know quite how, but he drops his arms and the sleeves are ripped from his arms. Castiel sees himself bare at the torso, and it alarms him. It's a delayed reaction. Castiel remembers where they are.

"Dean, this isn't our home— _there's a dead body in the next room_."

Dean wishes that Castiel hadn't reminded him. Yeah, they'd have to dispose of that before his boss comes home. The moment is put behind them. Castiel re-buttons his shirt, and even though Dean hates to see the shirt on him again, he finds compensation in that Castiel's buttons are misaligned. They carefully stow the Rit Zien in the trunk of the Impala and return indoors. They can't exactly bury the body here. They try to tidy up the house. Dean is easily distracted, but he's disappointed that Castiel appears to be more focused than him.

When they can do no more, they are idle. Castiel is sitting at the kitchen table, and Dean is watching him. Castiel moves and gets up. He returns to the nursery to check on the baby. He carefully puts one finger to her forehead. She isn't warm anymore.

Arms encircle him from behind, and Castiel stirs.

"Dean-"

Lips are feathering close to his ear and it tingles, crawling down his neck. Dean takes a chance, and his gently nips the angel's ear. Castiel squirms. It's uncomfortable. He's aware of something else at the same time. Dean's handgun is firm against his thigh, he concludes.

"_Sorry_," Dean apologizes in a deep, but quiet tone. They both know he isn't truly sorry. Neither of them mind. Dean's fingers are in his hair again, and they're tugging. Castiel's head tips slightly, and Dean's dips forward into the crook of his neck. He find Castiel's pulse and kisses it. He traces the artery up to the jawline and teethes the flesh there. Although Dean isn't all for bruising, he makes an exception in this case. Castiel put his mark on him. It's only appropriate to return the favor-

The angel's chest stutters a breath, making Dean pause. His fingers loosen in his dark hair, and the hand rejoins the other at his torso. Dean kisses and licks this spot, as his hands work to unbutton Castiel's shirt once again. It isn't until he begins to nip and bite that Castiel becomes a little more vocal. He's trying not to let his voice pass his lips, and Dean hides a grin at his valiant effort. He knows that Castiel will break.

Dean feels bad about using the boss's bed, but he's not up for experimentation (actually, he doesn't really; consider it karma for standing his best friend up). He also feels bad for getting a thrill of throwing the angel back on the mattress, and enjoying the momentary fright in his eyes as he loses his balance and his body jumps back up on the springs. The disorientation to follow is priceless. He cages Castiel in, climbing over him. Castiel is quickly shirtless again. Dean inspects him again. The mark just under his jaw administers a rush of pride and possession. When he really thinks about it, it's incredible. He's about to bang an angel. Even getting this far is a noteworthy accomplishment. How many people can swear on a Bible that they've seduced a celestial being, one of God's own? Dean could consider this fair compensation for all the times that God (and his dick squad) screwed him over. But this is Castiel. He's a lot more than just some prize. He is vitality.

As for Castiel, the onslaught of emotions and sensations he's feeling blind him to consequences. He slings his arms around Dean's neck and reels him down for a kiss that is abrasive, yet shy. His legs wrap around the man's waist, pulling him down in a vice that hungers. Somewhere along the way, clothing vanishes in a fog of distraction. He watches Dean when their mouths part, and the person staring down at him is a different person from the Dean everyone knows. Dean Winchester is a legend in his own right. Many tremble in fear of his name alone. Even with human limitations, he is an admirable fighter. His heart is calloused and hardened, but here... it's different. Castiel can see it in Dean's eyes that despite this rigidity, there is weakness. Despite the superficiality, there is depth. Despite the hatred, there is _love_.

This is Dean Winchester at his finest.

Castiel arches, pressing his lips tightly together as Dean snaps down to meet him. Their voices break in concert, and Dean's smile trips the beat to which Castiel's now-human heart dances.


End file.
